


Deciphering Family

by Llama1412



Series: Don't Cry For Me, Temeria [7]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Backstory, Families of Choice, Gen, Pre-Canon, Team as Family, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29571468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Silas was starting a whole new life as the person he wanted to be, but no one told him how terrifying it would be to constantly worry about the secret getting out.Then he gets recruited into the Blue Stripes and starts working next to the King and that terror multiplies.
Relationships: Blue Stripes & Vernon Roche
Series: Don't Cry For Me, Temeria [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912225
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11





	Deciphering Family

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyyyy, it's finally a Don't Cry For Me, Temeria update!

Silas was starting a new life today. One where he would only be known as Silas, the skinny kid with a head for numbers and codes. 

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, clutching his enlistment papers in his hand. His heart was beating like mad and his stomach felt like a mess of squirming bugs and he thought he might be sick before long, but he had  _ done it!  _ He was officially Silas, son of Julia the smith, who was most known for her many daughters. No one really remembered a son being in there, but as long as Julia and all her daughters insisted it was the case, no one spoke of it too loudly.

And now, he was Silas, Private First Class, Temerian Infantry. Today was the beginning of a new life, and Silas was so excited that he really did think he might throw up.

His ma would call him a worrier and tell him to focus on the good things about the day, all the ways his dream was finally coming true. His sisters would call him a square and tell him a little rule breaking was good for the spirit. And that was all well and good for  _ them. _

But there was some part of Silas that was utterly  _ terrified _ of what he’d done and what would happen next. Before, he may have felt  _ off _ and  _ wrong,  _ but at least he knew what was expected of him. Now… now there were no limits, and Silas desperately wanted to live up to expectations. Now that he could live as who he was, as  _ Silas,  _ surely the rest of his life should fall into order quickly.

* * *

It turned out, basic training was  _ hard!  _ Silas had thought he was in pretty decent shape, but it was quickly becoming clear to him that he was not made for heavy lifting. He’d always been as slim as a twig and frankly, he’d enlisted to be a  _ codebreaker,  _ not a – well, someone who needed to do 300 push ups in a single day.

It was clear he wasn’t living up to the expectations of his drill sergeant and that didn’t help the anxious butterflies in his stomach that refused to let him be. Every moment, he felt like he was about to be discovered, about to be accused of lying to the army, about to be thrown out and shamed, and it left him jumpy and on edge – to the point that his bunkmates had taken to laughing about it and poking at him.

But even with that – with the sore muscles and angry drill sergeant and asshole bunkmates and constant,  _ constant _ stress – Silas had never been happier. There was something truly incredible about being able to actually be seen as the person he wanted to be. Mostly, anyway. He’d prefer it if he were a bit less nervous overall because he really wasn’t sure his heart could withstand this for long and people in his family usually lived long lives. But even when people yelled at him or mocked him, they called him Silas. 

He wondered if he would eventually get used to the little thrill he got every time someone said his name. He hoped not.

Anyway, he was happy and jumpy and sore and just all around rather exhausted when his drill sergeant pulled him aside.

“Silas!” Commander Jolan barked, and there was that little thrill again, even though his gut suddenly felt like a cavernous hole, sucking up everything except dread and fear and anxiety. 

“Yes, sir?” Silas snapped a perfect salute, trying to pretend that his hands weren’t clammy and that sweat wasn’t dripping down his back.

“If it were up to me,” Jolan looked down at him with a sneer, “shrimp like you would be booted right out of the army. We got no use for an idiot that can barely lift a broadsword!”

Silas’s shoulders curled and he ducked his head down into them.

“But,” the commander drew the word out reluctantly, “some bigshot idiot thinks you might be  _ useful.  _ For your sake, you’d better hope you are.”

Silas gulped. “Yes, sir.”

“Hmph,” Jolan looked him over, lip curled in disgust. Then he spun on his heel and marched off. “Keep up, Private!”

Silas stumbled after him, biting his lip and twisting his fingers. He could be useful. Surely he could be useful. He  _ needed _ to be useful.

Commander Jolan led him down a long corridor and stopped at the door to his own office. Silas blinked – this ‘bigshot’ had turned Jolan out of his office?

“Get inside, Silas!” Jolan snapped.

Silas wiped his sweaty palms on his tunic and opened the door. A stocky man wearing armor that was not at all standard issue with the Temerian army turned as he entered and waved him into a seat.

“Silas,” the man said, and he was wearing the type of headcovering Silas had only seen the merchant class and nobility wear before. “I understand that you’re good with codes.”

Swallowing, Silas nodded, “y-yes, sir.”

“I have a test for you,” the man pulled out a piece of parchment and unrolled it on the desk. “If you pass, the offer I make you will change your career. If you fail,” the man met his eyes, “well, I would say you’d stay here, but from what I hear, that won’t be for long, will it?”

Silas hunched his shoulders, looking away from the man’s frighteningly intense gaze to examine the parchment. His brow creased in confusion. “This is a code, sir?” To him, it looked like a bunch of circles connected with lines that formed a simple pattern.

“This is a case study. That picture was drawn by a scout that was tracking Scoia’tael movement. The scout reported that this symbol represents some sort of activity the Scoia’tael will engage in. Your job is to tell me what that is.”

Silas blinked. “The Scoia’tael? I – well, if it’s elven, it could refer to – that is, um,” he darted a nervous look at the man, but was simply waved to continue. “The elves claim that the movement of the spheres can be predicted. It could be referring to a specific date or time these symbols correspond with, in which case, you would probably need to consult Oxenfurt Academy.” He licked his lips, glancing quickly at the man, whose eyes were narrowed. “On the other hand, if the drawing is more – um, representational, I suppose you could say? That is, since I assume the scout did  _ not _ know elven timekeeping, then this is probably supposed to indicate something – some  _ activity _ connected to the movement of the spheres.”

Wait, that actually shook loose something in his own memory. Something from his class on antiquated superstitions (or, as Silas had quickly learned, any sort of scientific finding that came from nonhumans and hadn’t been proven by humans yet). Something about time and activity and  _ math. _

“Oh!” Silas gasped, and the man’s eyebrow rose. “Oh, I think I know what it is! There’s – there’s this elven… uh, I guess… ritual? So, they think they can predict the spheres, right? That’s actually where legends of the Wild Hunt come from. But um, the important thing is that they have to  _ share  _ those predictions. And, you know, do the predicting. I think – I think maybe this is supposed to symbolise the activity where the elves read the skies and make prophecies.”

The man hummed, tapping a finger against his cheek. “Tell me more.”

“Does that mean I’m right?” Silas perked up.

“It means I consider your logic acceptable,” the man corrected and Silas wilted slightly. “So expand on it. Why would this be significant intel pertaining to the Scoia’tael?”

“Um,” Silas chewed on his lip. “Well, if the ritual is a big deal to elves… maybe that means that the Scoia’tael will be busy doing that instead of, you know, attacking?”

“Hmm,” the man nodded to himself. “But when?”

Silas scrunched his face, looking back at the drawing. “I – I don’t know.” He licked his lips and then dared to ask, “who are you, sir?”

“Ah, where are my manners?” the man chuckled, extending a hand. “Vernon Roche, Commander of the King’s Special Forces.”

Silas shook his hand, eyes wide. “But – I didn’t know the king had special forces?”

“He didn’t, until a year ago. Now he does, and we have plenty of work to do. Work which,” Roche clicked his tongue, assessing Silas, “I believe you may be able to help with.”

“I – are you… recruiting me, sir?”

“I am.”

Silas frowned in confusion. “This wasn’t a case study, was it?”

“It might become one,” Roche shrugged. “My scout has some communication issues. I need  _ you _ to bridge the gap. Interested?”

His mouth was hanging open, Silas vaguely became aware of.  _ Him  _ recruited in the  _ King’s  _ special forces just before he was about to get kicked out of basic? It seemed too good to be true.

“I was hoping you’d say yes,” Roche sighed, leaning back in his seat, “but the truth is, you don’t really have much of a choice, do you?”

“What’s the catch?” Silas asked softly.

Roche sniffed. “Well, there’s the constant threat of death. Special forces serve the King, but more than that, we’re  _ speciality _ fighters. They bring us in when nothing else has done the job so far.”

“And no one has defeated the Scoia’tael yet,” Silas concluded. “But I – I mean, you know why Jolan wants me out, right? I’m – I’m trying, I  _ really am.  _ But I just – I’m not very good at… well, at being a soldier, I guess.”

“Of course not,” Roche said casually, as if Silas hadn’t just ripped himself apart to admit that. He looked up at Roche and whatever his face showed seemed to convince the man to explain. “You’re not infantry. Look at you, you’re scrawny. You’re not someone who can hold a pike on the front line. What you  _ are _ is an academic,” Roche’s index finger tapped lightly against his forehead. “And, as it turns out, a pretty damn good codebreaker, at least for my purposes. Temeria doesn’t need you on the front lines, Silas,” Roche clasped his shoulder and met his eyes seriously, “Temeria needs you on support, so that the guys on the front lines have a solid chance. Understand?”

Silas stared at him, awestruck, and managed to move his head enough to nod.

“Good,” Roche clapped his shoulder firmly, but not with exaggerated strength meant to make him collapse like people usually used. “I’m assuming that you’re accepting, because let’s face it, there’s nothing left for you here. So, why don’t you go pack up your gear and I’ll deal with your commander,” Roche looked down at the file in his hand and then mangled Jolan’s name purposely with a wink. 

Silas bit his lip against a smile. “Yes, sir.”

“In that case,” Roche rose to open the door, “welcome to the team, Silas.”

Silas left the room, passing by Jolan and the look of absolute horror and confusion on the commander’s face forced him to bit back giddy giggles as he headed to his bunk to pack.

He, Silas, son of Julia, was going to serve the King. Him! And as a codebreaker! 

When his family next asked what news he had, he was going to knock their socks off!


End file.
